


Finman

by wrennette



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Dobhar-chu, Ezra centric, Gen, I named Ezra's horse Rambler, Old West, Shapeshifting, finfolk, shapeshifter!Ezra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:58:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t worn it in what seemed like ages, and all of a sudden his entire body itched with the need to be in another form, gamboling in a clear stream and diving deep, clever fingers grasping at treasures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finman

**Author's Note:**

> Ezra and Magnificent Seven aren't mine. Author makes no profit etc.

Ezra double checked his saddlebags, smiling as his fingers brushed the soft coat of his trueskin. He hadn’t worn it in what seemed like ages, and all of a sudden his entire body itched with the need to be in another form, gamboling in a clear stream and diving deep, clever fingers grasping at treasures. He shivered, withdrawing his hand. He had solo patrol that afternoon, and really it had only been a few weeks, since a few towns before his arrival in this dusty backwater. But he was stuck here until the end of his thirty days, and already he was contemplating staying on beyond then. It was a danger, but one that excited rather than perturbed him.

With a smile he shouldered his bags, then headed for the livery. Rambler greeted him with a friendly whicker, and Ezra reached up to scratch the compact gelding’s poll. The bright chestnut blew out his breath sharply, pressing into the caress, and Ezra laughed, opening the stall door and slipping inside. He gave his mount a rough grooming, speaking softly in the ancient tongue of his people as he did. When he finished, he tacked up quickly and tied his bags behind his saddle, reaching in once more in unconscious habit to check the sleek fur that was hid in a silken wrapping.

Knowing his mount could cover the route assigned well within the allotted time, Ezra felt no guilt over his detour to a small spring nearby. It was not a large oasis, but the spring was cool and constant and secluded enough that he might put on his trueskin for a little while and take a paddle. The thought of it, water cool against his nose, shifting welcomingly through the sleek guard hairs, made him shiver with anticipatory delight. With a bright laugh he had never allowed another to hear, he rode on, his senses alert to the world around him.

The spring was deserted when Ezra arrived, but he remained mounted, waiting, for a good ten minutes before he decided it was safe. While he knew he was often viewed as reckless by the men he had fallen in with in the past few weeks, he never did anything without caution and a careful calculation of the odds. So he waited, testing the wind and listening, and then he dismounted, unbridled his mount but left the leather headstall looped around Rambler’s neck. Quickly and carefully he stripped away his finery, then sauntered down to the water, his bathing supplies in one hand, his silk wrapped trueskin in the other.

After an efficient bath, Ezra rose out of the water and unwrapped the silken bundle he had laid out. Even though he had been born in this skin, had grown up shifting back and forth at whim, it was still disconcerting to look at his trueskin and realize just how _small_ he was when he was himself. The working of it was surely magic, although he had no conscious knowledge of spells, no potions or rituals or incantations. There was simply Ezra holding the pelt of an otter, and then there was an otter with strange, unnatural green eyes.

A jaunty gambol, a diving belly slide, and he was in the pool. The water felt deliciously cool on his face, hands and feet, the soft under-pelt trapping air and keeping his delicate skin warm and dry. He swam and played, diving for pebbles at the bottom of the spring and then surfacing with a silent ring of ripples. After a while he knew he ought to be going, and so he slunk from the water, giving a whole body shake to dry himself somewhat, and then he rose to his two human feet and gently wrung as much water of his trueskin as possible. The heat of the afternoon would soon dry it, and so he laid down on his undone bedroll, his trueskin spread on a nearby rock, and let the sun dry both him and the soft pelt.

When he was dry, and so was his trueskin, he dressed deftly, then gently folded the fur into its silken wrapper. Petting Rambler, he slipped the bit back between his gelding’s teeth, then mounted up and continued on his circuit. A few hours later he was back in town, feeling considerably more at home in his human skin.

**Author's Note:**

> based on myths (via wiki, 'cause that's how I roll) of selfies, [finfolk](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Finfolk) and [dobhar-chu](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dobhar-ch%C3%BA), mythical creatures of the Celtic world. Because otters, that's why.
> 
>  


End file.
